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elrhiarhodanTitle: We Rise Where Shadows Fall – Part One
Artist: Nioell
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Lauren Cruz, Kyle Bancroft, Original Characters; Peter/Neal, past Neal/Adler, past Peter/Elizabeth (marriage of convenience), Peter-Elizabeth friendship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~41,000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, theatregirl7299
Summary: Neal, a former employee of Vincent Adler – and the only person from Adler’s organization to serve jail time – has agreed to help the FBI find Adler, who disappeared over half a decade ago. Peter Burke, the case agent assigned to the Adler case, is worried about Neal’s safety and doesn’t trust the Marshals, so he’s keeping him close at hand. The attraction between the two men grows as they learn about each other and everything comes to a head when Neal finally shares a devastating secret.
A/N: Continues the story that began in Nothing Will Remain, the near-canon A/U, where Peter is an FBI agent assigned to locate Vincent Adler. He had discovered that a former employee of Adler’s, Neal Caffrey, is his ex-wife’s book keeper. Neal had been reluctant to assist the FBI, but eventually agrees to help them. This story picks up immediately after the prior story ends, but you don’t have to read that story to understand what’s going on here.
Title from the Oysterband song, “Rise Above”.
Written for Round One of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wc_reverse_bb.
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“I’ll help you.” Neal said the words – he hadn’t thought about them before speaking, but now that he’d spoken, it felt right. Like the first right thing he’d done in a very long time.
He glanced over at Peter, who seemed surprised at his declaration. Mingled with the surprise was compassion and understanding, nothing he’d never expected from an FBI agent, but perfectly in keeping with all that he’d learned about Peter Burke in the last few hours.
He told Peter why he’d changed his mind. The reasons were truths, but they were also excuses. Yes, he wanted to prove that he wasn’t his father’s son, but that was less important than proving to Peter Burke that he deserved the faith that he seemed to have in him. Neal couldn’t say at what point that became of paramount importance. He’d met the man only a week ago, spent a total of two or three hours in his company, and yet he went from seeing him as little more than a gold shield intent on making his life a misery to someone he needed to have in his life.
El would smile and say ‘I told you so,’ and that was all right. Family was entitled to take liberties like that. Moz might think he was crazy, or on the other hand, find his change of heart a very savvy move. Who better to provide protection than a Suit, especially one who seemed to be a cut more intelligent than the rest? His lawyer was nothing if not practical.
“So, where do we go from here?” He wondered what would happen next; would Peter rush him down to the FBI offices to make an official statement?
“Like I already told you, you’re staying with me.”
“I mean, after I give my statement. You don’t need to twist my arm anymore. I’ll help you as much as I can.”
“Thank you – but I’m keeping you with me because I’m worried about you. Adler has a long reach. Until he’s under lock and key and we’re sure that he hasn’t put out a hit on you, you’re with me.”
That didn’t bother him – not in the least – but he had to make some effort. “I know you said you don’t trust the Marshals, that you had some run-in with them, but I’ve heard that they’ve never lost a witness under their protection.” Neal was all too familiar with the Marshals’ Service
“That’s true. While they’ve never lost a witness, I’d rather not take the chance. There’s a first time for everything.”
Neal tried not to feel too relieved. “What about during the day? I know you said I can’t go to work and the last thing I’d want to do is put Elizabeth in jeopardy. Will I stay here, in your apartment?”
Peter smiled, but it was more like a smirk and Neal didn’t quite understand why his stomach filled with butterflies. “When I said I’m not letting you out of my sight, I meant just that. You’ll come to the office with me. I’ll find a desk for you and you’ll keep yourself busy during the day.”
He had a very incongruous thought, that Peter was treating him like a kid unexpectedly off from school and couldn’t be left home alone. He hoped Peter wasn’t sharing that same thought.
“Once we get the all-clear from the Fire Department, I’ll send someone to your place and get your stuff. Is there anything you want, other than your clothes?”
“Yeah. Would it be possible to get my sketchpad and pencils?” They weren’t particularly good quality and if he was a different sort of person, he probably could get the FBI to buy him the kind he longed for.
Peter nodded. “Anything else? Laptop? Tablet?”
Neal shook his head. “Nope, don’t have either, no need.” That wasn’t precisely true, but he didn’t want to tell Peter he couldn’t afford them. “My cell phone charger would be useful. It’s on my night table.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you make a list and I’ll give it to my agents tomorrow. This way, we won’t have to go back.”
“Won’t your people be annoyed? Having to fetch and carry an ex-con’s personal belongings?”
Peter gave him an odd look. “No, you’re a material witness in an on-going investigation; no one’s going to complain. Besides, they do what I tell them to do. It’s their job.”
Neal wasn’t so sure that no one would grumble, but if Peter was the boss, he didn’t doubt that he had the complete loyalty of his team. And that made him think about Vincent, how he’d once thought the same thing about him. Neal hoped that his perceptions about people weren’t still screwed up and twisted, that he wasn’t as wrong about Peter as he had been about his former boss.
“What’s the matter?”
Neal wondered if his thoughts were on full display. Vincent often liked to tell him that he had a terrible poker face and that he was as easy to read as a headline on the New York Post’s front page. “Nothing, just thinking. This is – well – a lot to take in.”
Peter nodded. “I bet it is.” He huffed a sigh. “It’s not that late. Do you want to watch some television or something?”
Neal shrugged. “Truthfully, I’m kind of tired. It been a long day and maybe I should just go to bed. I have a feeling that tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier.”
“I understand. I’ll get you something to wear – will sweatpants be okay?”
“Yeah – sure. Would you mind if I showered first? I feel a little ripe.”
Peter retrieved the promised sweatpants, showed him the bathroom and pulled out a few towels from the linen closet. “I’m going to watch the game, take care of some paperwork. If you change your mind, you’re welcome to join me.”
“Thanks.” He gave Peter a grateful smile and went into the bathroom, carefully shutting the door behind him. Even if he stared at the ceiling until dawn, there was no way – in his current frame of mind – that he could share a companionable evening with Peter Burke.
He hadn’t felt this vulnerable since his first night in prison.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter had no intention of asking Neal to spend the rest of the evening with him, but he spoke without making any conscious decision about it. It felt too much like the end of an ordinary day with someone he shared his life with. He tried to tell himself he was just being polite. After all, Neal was an unwilling houseguest. But he knew that was utter bullshit. He wanted Neal’s company; he wanted to spend time with him.
And he could hear El’s delighted laughter in the back of his mind. He didn’t doubt that his ex was trying to fix him up with Neal – or more precisely – that she was trying to fix Neal up with him. She knew his type all too well, they’d been friends for the better part of a decade and a half, had been married for a solid eight years, and she’d watched men come in and out of his life.
Physically, yeah – Neal Caffrey pushed a lot of buttons. He liked men, not boys, and Neal was certainly not a boy – despite the aura of vulnerability he cast. And okay, Peter had to admit to preferring blue-eyed brunets.
But it was more than Neal being a ‘type’. Peter could go into any bar in Chelsea and find a well-built blue-eyed brunet with a five o’clock shadow willing to go home with him and get soundly fucked. Hell, he’d certainly done that plenty of times over the years. Hook ups like that left him cold, even as they fulfilled his carnal needs.
What Caffrey was – beyond being a material witness in an on-going investigation – was smart. He was loyal.
Peter went into the kitchen and took a fresh bottle of beer from the fridge. Smart and loyal. Hell, those qualities could just as easily describe the Labrador retriever he had a kid. No, Neal Caffrey was a lot more than that.
From the other side of the apartment, he heard the shower turn off. It wasn’t hard to imagine Neal naked and wet, drying himself off, putting on his sweatpants. When he’d made the offer, Peter hadn’t realized just how intimate it would feel, to know that another man was wearing his clothes. He didn’t even want to think about tomorrow morning. Was it too much to hope that he had an unopened package of plain white briefs just lying around?
He swallowed and tried to banish the image of the man, but it was impossible. He wondered if Neal was smooth or hairy or something in-between. Of course, his thoughts immediately went to other body parts. Was Neal cut? Probably, given his age – but he let the mental picture build of the man as he’d prefer him to be. Smooth, but with the finest treasure trail leading to an uncut dick.
Peter took a sip of beer and tried to change the direction of his thoughts, reminding himself again that Neal Caffrey was a witness, not potential dating material. As long as he was under his protection – No, wait, under the protection of the FBI, he had no right to think of him in any other way.
Talk about screwing up his career and blowing the case clean out of the water. Sleeping with Neal Caffrey would be the worst mistake of his life.
And yet the devil that seemed to take up residence on his shoulder kept whispering, “But what a mistake to make, what a way to go.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Friday morning, ten o’clock, Neal was late and Elizabeth was worried. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d been late to work. Actually, make that the closed fist of one hand.
Neal was never late.
Worse, he wasn’t answering his cell phone or responding to any of the text messages she’d left.
Last night, before they’d locked up, she took a good, hard look at him and thought that he looked like hell. Worse, actually, than the night he had first shown up at her door, fresh out of prison.
She asked if he was feeling all right and he fobbed her off with an excuse about a bad headache and too much wine the night before. Apparently Mozzie had visited and Neal thought he needed to match the man glass for glass.
El didn’t think Neal was lying – either about the headache or about Mozzie – but he wasn’t telling her the whole story, either. If she hadn’t had a meeting with a potential client, she would have gone over to his apartment and fussed over him. Over the past sixteen months, she’d learned that Neal had a terrible habit of not taking care of himself. He’d go home and sit at his easel for hours, forgetting to eat, sleeping only when his body demanded it.
And she wondered if there was more to his worn-down state than poor living habits. Since Peter had shown up at the office last week, demanding to talk to Neal about some case, Neal had become distant again. He wasn’t so much pushing her away as putting back up the emotional walls he’d built during his years in prison. Walls that she’d spent a lot of effort dismantling.
She wondered, and not for the first time, if he was depressed. It was hard to imagine the bright, happy boy she had grown up with having those problems, but life had kicked Neal in the teeth hard and her ex-husband’s pugnacious behavior might be threatening to tear down all that Neal had worked so hard to rebuild.
She loved Peter. She adored him. He was her best friend. But she wasn’t blind to his faults. He could be pig-headed and stubborn, a professional paranoid who tended to steamroll over people to see that justice was served.
Well, steamroll might be a little harsh, but he often had a way of looking at the world that was very black and white. And that wasn’t the best approach to dealing with Neal. She couldn’t help but wish that they’d met under different circumstances – like a lovely dinner that she’d arranged. Despite Neal’s time in prison and her husband’s career in law enforcement, she still thought that they’d be good for each other.
El stopped building castles in the air between her ex-husband and her cousin and tried calling Neal for the fifth time. The call went right to voice mail. She sighed and thought about calling Mozzie. But that was often a crap-shoot. Moz had at least a dozen different cell phone numbers, and night owl that he was, there was no guarantee that he would answer any of them this time of day.
She didn’t call Peter, though. He owed her for the way he’d tried to bully her, but it wasn’t like he was a cop or could send a squad car over to check on Neal.
She dithered and worried and paced the small office and finally broke down and called Moz. She was in luck.
Moz answered on the first ring and cut to the heart of the matter, “Before you ask, I’ve heard from Neal.”
The relief was tempered with annoyance and a bit of hurt. “He called you, but not me?”
“Don’t get your panties in a knot. He had some problems last night, but your noble and heroic ex-husband was there to save him.”
Huh? “Peter? What has Peter got to do with Neal not calling me?”
“I don’t have all of the details about last night, but apparently Neal’s agreed to cooperate with the Suits. I’m on my way over to the FBI offices right now. At this ungodly hour. Will fill you in later.” Moz, being Moz, disconnected without giving her a chance to ask a single question.
El stared at the phone as if it had the answers.
“Elizabeth, is everything all right?” She was so lost in thought that when Yvonne snuck up behind her, she shrieked.
“Sorry – sorry.”
“What’s the matter? And where’s Neal? He’s never late.” Her assistant had taken a motherly shine to Neal.
“Neal’s – he’s apparently at the FBI offices.” El didn’t bother to hide the worry.
Yvonne had been a silent witness to last week’s debacle and knew that Peter needed something from her bookkeeper. “You don’t have anything on the books until the Corelli party tonight at Top of the Rock. Do you want to go down and give everyone hell?”
She didn’t have to think twice. “Yeah, I think I’d like to do just that.”
“I’ll hold the fort until you get back.” Yvonne offered her a familiar green and white paper cup. “Take this, you look like you need it more than I do.”
That short cup probably contained a triple shot of espresso. “No – I’m okay. I think I’m wired enough. If I drink that, I might end up randomly assaulting people.”
Yvonne chuckled. “Go! And take no prisoners.”
“I don’t plan to.” She grabbed her bag and coat and headed over to the FBI offices, intent on retrieving Neal. If she had to leave bodies in her wake, so be it.
The smart thing to do would be to call Peter and give him a piece of her mind, but as she walked, she remembered what Mozzie had told her – that Neal had some problems last night and Peter saved him. She’d been too focused on Neal’s decision to cooperate with the FBI to pay much attention to that. All the worry that consumed her this morning flooded back, with interest.
What the hell could have happened to Neal that he needed to be rescued by her ex?
And despite her worry, Elizabeth had to laugh. Of all the people she knew, there was no one better at rescuing anybody than Peter Burke. He’d rescued her more times than she’d like to admit. By the time she arrived at the FBI offices and was waiting for the elevator up to the twenty-first floor, she’d just about convinced herself that events had arranged themselves perfectly, and her ex and her cousin were about to embark on a grand romance.
Since Peter’s return from his stint at headquarters in Washington, she’d only been at the White Collar offices a handful of times. The guard at the door didn’t recognize her and she couldn’t find a familiar face in the sea of agents manning the desks. The guard apologized to her, but he kept her waiting. Despite her impatience, El understood that this was more than mere protocol.
“Mrs. Burke! What brings you here?” Finally, someone she knew. Clinton Jones came over to greet her. The man – not so young anymore – had talked his way onto her husband’s team about nine years ago. At one time, she’d had hopes that Peter would fix his interest in that direction. When she’d tried to nudge him that way, Peter gave her the lecture to end all lectures and she never raised the subject of her husband dating any of his agents ever again.
“You have my bookkeeper.”
“Ah, right. Neal Caffrey.”
El wasn’t all that surprised that Clinton knew just who she was talking about. He was Peter’s right hand these days, and probably deeply involved in the investigation that had sent Peter storming down to her office last week. “Where is he?”
Clinton deftly maneuvered her over to his desk and offered her a seat. “He’s in an interview.”
El had to ask, just to make sure. “Not an interrogation?”
“No, he’s not being charged with anything.”
“With Peter?”
“And his lawyer.”
She laughed at the disgust in the agent’s tone. “Mozzie came in with guns blazing? Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“To say the least. Are you sure he’s actually a lawyer? He seems a little … odd for legal counsel.”
“Oh, he definitely is a lawyer.” When El first hired Moz, she had Peter do a thorough background check. It was one of the very few times she’d asked Peter for help like that. The report on Theodore Winters, a/k/a Dante Mozart Havisham, was fascinating. She’d never told the little guy that she’d looked into him. Some things weren’t worth the drama. “He’s a Harvard Law grad, class of ’89.”
Jones shook his head and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding, but nothing surprises me days.”
El then remembered that Clinton was a Harvard Law grad himself. “How long do you think they’ll be?”
“A while. The little guy has a way of slowing down things.”
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” She knew that was a long shot.
“No, afraid I can’t.” He gave her an arch look. “But I suspect you’ll get it out of Neal later.”
“Maybe.” She wasn’t so certain. Neal kept secrets like a vault and she’d leaned not to pry. El crossed her legs and leaned back in the very uncomfortable chair. She settled in for a long wait, dropped her bag on the desk and pulled out her phone. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No – go right ahead.” Clinton tried to tilt his monitor away from her line of sight and of fussed awkwardly at the papers and files displaced by her oversized handbag. “Um, how about if I take you to the conference room? You’d probably be more comfortable there. And I can let Peter know you’re here, too.”
She agreed. Clinton brought her upstairs and asked her if she’d like a cup of coffee. Knowing all too well how bad the coffee was, she asked for tea, instead. El settled into one of the chairs and had the strongest feeling of déjà vu. It seemed like the best part of her life started in this very conference room. She thought back to that moment and it was kind of shocking to realize just how long ago that was. Fifteen years, give or take a few months.
The room hadn’t changed all that much. There was new carpeting, new technology, new chairs. She’d changed, though. Older, of course. Smarter, definitely. As for wiser, the jury was still out on that.
A young agent – probably a probie – knocked on the door before coming in with a cup of tea. “Agent Jones had to go do something and he asked me to bring you this. I hope it’s all right.”
El reassured the nervous young woman that it was. It was hard to imagine being quite so young, so raw and uncertain. But back then, she had been. She shivered, realizing that had she not screwed up the courage to report the fraud she thought she’d uncovered at the Diarmitt, she might very well be dead. She never would have met Peter, they never would have become friends, he never would have married her just so she could have health insurance.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, but the physical warmth did nothing to ease the chill in her soul. She could have died and never had the chance to reunite with Neal. Neal might have fallen into the cracks and crevices that flanked an ex-con’s life. And Peter, would he have become the man he was now without their own connection?
“El?”
She looked up, and there he was. He might have been her ex-husband, but he’d always be her best friend. “Hey, hon.”
He came over to her and kissed her cheek. “I own you an apology.”
“Yes, you do.” At first, she thought he was talking about his impression of a bull in a china shop in her office last week, but then on second thought, that didn’t seem likely. “You do?”
“Yeah – I meant to call you this morning, to let you know what was going on, but things started snowballing and I lost all track of time.”
Neal. She metaphorically slapped her forehead. “I was very worried when Neal didn’t show up at work this morning and when he didn’t answer his phone or any of my texts. Mozzie said you rescued him?”
Peter nodded.
El had to laugh. “I can’t help but think that you’ve become a proverbial St. Bernard. All you need is a little barrel of brandy around your neck.”
The both chuckled at the image.
“So, what happened?”
Peter sighed. “I went to talk to Neal last night, over at his place in Queens. ”
“Why?” El figured it was for the same reasons that brought him down to her office last week, but she couldn’t help but hope that maybe Peter just wanted to take Neal out for a bite to eat and get to know him better.
Apparently not. He frowned and said, “Sorry, I still can’t tell you that. It’s an active case.”
She nodded. Now that they weren’t married, Peter couldn’t talk to her about his work. “Right – but you can tell me what happened.”
“We went up to his apartment and I smelled gas. Got everyone out of the building and called 911. Turns out there was a major leak. The place might have blown up.”
She couldn’t help but remember what happened in Harlem just a few months ago. “Thank god you’re all right. Is Neal okay?”
“Yeah – he had a bad headache. Probably from breathing the gas over the past few days.”
“I’ve been worried about him. Since you paid that visit last week, he hadn’t been looking too good. He was worn out and tired all the time.”
“I had him checked out by the EMTs, and they said he’ll be fine.”
“And what happened afterwards?”
It was strange how Peter wasn’t quite meeting her eye. “I took him back to Riverside with me. I didn’t give him a chance to call you, I didn’t want you to worry.”
El wanted to clap her hands and dance around the room in triumph. While Peter might need something from Neal for his investigation, he could just as easily set him up in a safe house. And even if he thought that taking Neal home with him was the safest option, that didn’t explain the slight flush along his cheekbones. “So, is everything … okay?” She still didn’t understand why Neal didn’t call her.
Peter gave her a sharp look; he clearly knew the direction her thoughts were going. “Everything’s just fine. But Neal’s going to have to stay under guard for a few days.”
“Wait – if everything’s ‘just fine’ – why would he need to stay under guard?”
“El, I can’t really tell you that.”
She huffed in annoyance. “Seriously, Peter – you are keeping my bookkeeper under lock and key and you won’t tell me why?”
“All I can tell you what I’ve already told you – Neal’s a material witness in a case. That’s it, El. For your own protection, you’re better off not knowing anything else.”
“Okay, okay. I don’t like this, though. I don’t like the idea of Neal being in danger.” And for form’s sake, El added, “And I don’t like the idea of you using him.”
Peter gave her a funny look.
“What?”
“What is Neal to you?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice.
“He didn’t tell you?” Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
“No, I asked and all he did was deflect and change the subject. What’s the big secret?” Peter looked at her again, but this time it was the sharp gaze of the veteran FBI agent, the man who loved to solve puzzles. “Is he your secret half-brother?”
She had to laugh. “Close. He’s my cousin. We kind of grew up together, and were best friends. At least until I was twelve.”
“What happened when you were twelve?”
“He and his mother just disappeared. I never heard from him again. Until he turned up at the house, just out of the blue, about sixteen months ago.” She had to wonder how much Neal had told Peter about his past. Maybe a lot, because he nodded like that meant something. “He looked for me after he got out of prison.”
“And you gave him a job.”
Peter made it seem wrong, like she was a soft touch and Neal had taken advantage of her. “Neal’s my family and he needed me. He had no one, nothing more than the clothes on his back. He looked like he’d been through hell and wasn’t sure he wanted to survive the trip back. Can you understand what that’s like?” She wanted to point out to Peter that when she needed him, he was there for her, without question. It wasn’t any different between her and Neal.
Peter just pursed his lips, like he wanted to argue with her, but knew better.
“Can I see him?”
“Yeah – we’ve taken a break. Moz insisted.” Peter stood up and motioned for her to join him. “I’ll take you to him – he’ll be happy to see you.”
He led her back through the office to a small, secured area and used his badge to disengage the door lock. She was about to make a comment about why Neal was being treated like a dangerous felon when Peter commented, “It’s procedure, and for his own safety.”
Neal was alone in the room and he looked, if not worse for wear, then simply tired. But his whole face lit up when he saw her. She held out her arms and he got up, letting her hug him tightly. “You okay?” She cupped his cheek and threaded her fingers through his curls.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She let go and peered into his face. Yes, he actually did look better than he had. The lines of strain around his mouth had smoothed out; the pinched look around his eyes was gone. “Sweetie.”
Neal looked over her shoulder, at Peter. “Can we have a few?”
Peter nodded and left them in privacy.
El had to note with a smile, “He’s probably listening, you know.”
Neal shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Peter wouldn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“You’re better off not knowing.”
“He said that you spent the night at his place.”
That got a reaction. A very interesting one – similar to the flush that appeared across Peter’s cheeks when they talked about the exact same thing. “El – it’s not what you think.”
“I know that – but still…” She almost hoped that Peter was listening.
Neal seemed uncomfortable, though, and she took pity and changed the subject. “I told him you’re my cousin.”
“How did he take knowing he’d once been married to a woman who’s related to a felon?”
She gave Neal a little shove. “You know, your whole ‘I’m a former criminal’ act is getting kind of old, so drop it.”
“Okay, sorry.” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, what was his reaction?”
“Actually, he'd almost figured it out. He thought you might have been my brother. And no, it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.”
Neal didn’t say anything and the conversation fell into an awkward silence. Elizabeth finally asked, “Did he tell you how long you’re going to have to stay here? Or are you going to a safe house or something?”
“No safe house. I get to hang out with the boys and girls with badges for the next couple of days. Peter wants to keep an eye on me. He doesn’t seem to trust the Marshals.”
Before she could comment about Peter keeping him on a short leash, Neal continued, “Which reminds me – you are NOT to touch the accounting programs. It took me six months to get your books straightened out and under no circumstances are you to even think of messing with them.”
“Okay, okay.” She knew better than to mess with the books. “But how am I going to run my business if you’re locked up?” She couldn’t help but tease him.
Neal turned pale at those last words.
El cursed her runaway mouth. “Sorry – I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets. “You trust Yvonne, right?”
“Absolutely.” She knew Yvonne from her days at the gallery, where she’d been Sebastian Diarmitt’s personal assistant. El snapped her up the moment Sebastian finally decided to retire and close the doors. Yvonne took care of all the everyday details
“Then I’ll work with her – on the phone, okay? I’ll have to give her passwords and she’ll see banking details for the business accounts. Will that be all right?”
“It’ll have to be. Bills need to get paid. I don’t have a choice.”
“Well, you do – I can work with you instead of Yvonne. But it’s going to be tedious. And last time you tried to use QuickBooks, I had to stop you from taking an axe to the monitor.”
She didn’t laugh because it really wasn’t funny. Back when she first started out, Peter had patiently showed her everything she needed to do to keep her business going. She did fine with it for the first few months, but then she got sick. Peter stepped in and kept things going financially until she’d recovered. She’d been so lucky – she survived a major brain tumor with little long-term side effects. Until she looked at numbers. It wasn’t that they didn’t make sense, or she couldn’t do basic arithmetic. But columns of numbers and data entry made her more than a little nuts. Nothing made sense and her normally even-tempered personality disappeared – it was like she became the Incredible She-Hulk.
“El?”
“No – you and Yvonne will do fine. She did most of the bookkeeping before you came, she’ll know what you’re talking about. I’ll only mess things up.”
This time, Neal was the one to hug her. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He kissed her forehead, a rare show of affection. “A week, at most, and everything will be back to normal.”
She sighed and leaned into Neal, hoping that was true.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter was not on the other side of the two-way glass, watching and listening in on the conversation between Neal and Elizabeth. He decided that his time was better spent following up with the New York City Fire Department than snooping on the pair.
After hearing what the NYFD had to say, he was glad he did. He went back to the interrogation room, only to find that the little guy was back.
Mozzie had brought an array of sandwiches, and despite the news he had to share, Peter smiled at the sight of the three of them dining in his interrogation room like it was The Four Seasons. If he wasn’t mistaken, the bottle of wine the little guy brought was a pricey Barbaresco. Only Moz would bring a ninety-five dollar bottle of wine to lunch in the FBI interrogation room. He idly wondered about what was in the sandwiches. Probably something fancy like brie or smoked salmon or prosciutto. Or foie gras. Peter shuddered. He hated foie gras.
Peter watched the three of them and was tempted as hell to turn on the speaker and listen in. Neal wasn’t a suspect, but a cooperating witness, and it wasn’t as if he expected to hear anything of a self-incriminating nature. The whole scenario was a legal gray area – they were, after all, in an FBI interrogation room, one they had to know would be equipped with all sorts of covert observation equipment. And Elizabeth’s presence might very well cancel out the attorney-client privilege.
Peter wasn’t willing to risk it. Besides, the three of them seemed very happy. Neal was smiling and looked about a decade younger than he had the night before. Let them enjoy the moment. With the news he had, it wasn’t going to last. The outer door opened and Jones entered. They stood side-by-side for a few minutes.
Jones finally spoke. “You’re not joining them?”
Peter shrugged. “Nah, not hungry.”
The other agent gave him a sharp look, but Peter didn’t respond. “What’s your take on Caffrey? He seems awfully close with your ex. A little more than employer-employee, to be honest.”
If that comment had been made by anyone else, Peter might have flayed the speaker alive. But Jones had been his right hand for a long time, and he knew more about the relationship between him and Elizabeth than anyone at the office. “I’ve got no issues with Caffrey, and my take on is what you see is what you get. He’s had a rough time, but he’s not a player. And as for him and Elizabeth, they’re cousins, apparently. El told me they grew up together and Neal looked for her after he got out of prison.”
“Ah. You know, I can see a definite resemblance.”
Peter watched them. Yes, even if you ignored the similarities in their coloring, there was something of a family resemblance. Oh, El’s eyes were bluer, her cheeks rounder, but it was there – the tilt of the head, their mannerisms.
“You have anything for me?” Peter had asked Clinton to discretely get information about James Caffrey, Neal’s father.
“Not yet. He’s not listed in ViCAP, which doesn’t go that far back for dead criminals. And from what you told me, if I go through official Bureau channels, I’m going to get us a lot of unwanted attention. Wonder if any of the man’s old colleagues would be willing to talk about him. Caffrey was a D.C. cop, right?”
“Yeah. He was in the Metro D.C. force, lived in suburban Maryland.”
Jones rocked back and forth, hands in his pockets. “I’ve got some Navy buddies in D.C. who I haven’t seen in a while. Wouldn’t mind taking a few days off to go see them.”
Peter let a small smile curve his lips. “Maybe you could finally do your firearms recertification while you’re down there. Head out to Quantico. You really shouldn’t let things go this long.”
The other agent just nodded. “Yeah, I know. Quarterly re-certs are a pain, but might as well take care of it when I’m in the area. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop by the admissions office, see if I could get a peek at Caffrey’s application. He’s a material witness in a major investigation, need to make sure that his testimony will be unimpeachable. Can’t have anything come up and bite the government’s case in the ass.”
“Good thinking.”
Ever the naval officer, Jones gave him a two-fingered salute and Peter nodded his dismissal. In the interrogation room, Mozzie was shoving the cork back into the bottle and El and Neal were wrapping up the remainder of their lunch. It was time to deliver the bad news.
Peter unlocked the door and entered, doing his best not to laugh at the almost guilty looks on everyone’s faces. He was tempted to take the wineglass out of Mozzie’s hand and drain it, if just to join in the fun.
Oddly enough, it was Neal, not Elizabeth, who picked up his mood. “What’s the matter?”
He let out a gusty sigh. “Not good news. I just got off the phone with the Fire Department.”
“I can’t get back into my apartment?”
“I wish that was the case.” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. “Your apartment building sort of blew up this morning. The leak wasn’t just in the apartment. It seems that there was gas leaking from the mains where they came into the basement. Everything’s gone. I’m sorry.”
El hugged Neal, murmuring words of consolation. “You can stay with me, sweetie, don’t worry about it.”
“Actually, El, he can’t. At least not yet.”
She grimaced and let go of her cousin. “Right, yeah. I forgot, he’s a material witness.” Then she blinked, finally realizing that one thing had nothing to do with the other. “Wait, Neal’s in danger?”
Peter nodded, relieved that she finally caught on. “Yes, it’s possible that the leak wasn’t an accident.” He held up a hand. “And that’s all I can tell you. Neal needs around-the-clock protection and if he stays with you, you’re at risk, too.”
Neal just sat there, white as a sheet. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, thank god. Even though the building was a stand-alone and didn’t share any walls with your neighbors, the block had been evacuated.” Peter didn’t see the need, at least right now, to tell them that the Fire Department was sending in the arson squad to investigate. The gas mains in that neighborhood had been upgraded within the last five years and once they’d been shut off and the building ventilated, there should have been no risk of explosion. “I’m sorry, but everything’s gone.”
Neal shrugged, still looking numb. “Didn’t have all that much. Not a lot of clothes, my sketchbook and art supplies, a couple of extremely uninspired reproductions. The place came furnished. The rest came was from the local thrift stores.”
A thought occurred to Peter. “Did you have any papers there?”
“Papers?”
“Files, anything from before – you know – prison?”
Neal shook his head slowly. “No, I kept nothing important there.”
Peter thought that wording was interesting, but with El still in the room, it wasn’t something he wanted to explore. Moz, though, had picked up on it and was staring at Neal.
“Hon?” He turned to Elizabeth. “Neal and I need to pick up where we left off.”
“And you need me to leave?”
“Yeah, sorry. But you can’t be here.”
She sighed. “I do understand. Really, I’m not that clueless.” She gave Neal a kiss and whispered something in his ear. Neal nodded and in a quick movement, wrapped his arms around her.
Peter felt strangely emotional watching the two of them cling to each other – emotional and a little bereft. He’d been long accustomed to El relying on him. It was more than disconcerting seeing her as the strong one.
She gave Moz a hard glare, which Moz returned with interest.
As she headed for the door, Elizabeth rested a hand on his arm. “Take it easy on him. Neal’s not as strong as he wants you to think.”
Peter wanted to tell her he wasn’t about to bring out the rubber hoses, but thought better of it. It wasn’t worth joking about – he knew just how fragile Neal’s world was. He kissed her cheek instead. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
She kissed him back. “Thanks.”
The door shut behind her with a decisive click. Peter gave a longing look at the half-full wine glass still on the table, and then firmly put it out of his mind. He dropped a folder on the table and opened it. “Now we can get to the heart of the matter. Is this Vincent Adler?”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter slid the folder across the table. Neal was shocked at how nervous he was. His hands were shaking and sweat pooled at the base of his spine as he picked up the file.
He hadn’t laid eyes on Vincent in over five years, even in a photograph.
Neal took a deep breath and opened the folder. The face of the man in the photograph was a little older than the one in his memories, of course. Instead of a head of dark brown hair, expertly cut with a bit of an unruly wave to it, there were dramatic wings of white at the temples. But that was the only difference. The sharp, almost aristocratic planes of the cheekbones, the strong chin, the broad forehead – those were the same as on the man he had known and idolized.
Or he thought he’d known. The man who absconded with nine billion dollars of other people’s money, the man who let him plead guilty and rot in prison for almost half a decade was not a man worth idolizing.
“Yes, that’s Adler.” Neal closed the folder; he didn’t want to look at that picture for a moment longer than he had to. But he kept his hand over the file, unwilling to let it go.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Moz pried it away from him and looked at the picture. “That’s him? That’s the guy who –”
Peter grabbed the file from Moz. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I’m his attorney. I need to see what he sees.”
“You don’t have the necessary clearance.”
“Says who?”
“Says me – and believe me, I’ve checked.”
The two men started bickering about the legitimacy of government oversight and privacy. When Mozzie began ranting about FISA courts, secret societies, and the Star Chamber, Neal had enough. “Guys, guys – stop it, please. You’re giving me a headache.”
Peter and Moz looked at him, paused for just a second, then Moz started up again on the NSA’s spying on American citizens, Peter countered with the old something about ‘if you’ve done nothing wrong, what are you afraid of’ bit. It was like listening to five-year olds bicker about who was going to get the last cookie.
It all washed over him – not so much white noise – but like the sound of a train rushing past, loud and meaningless. He let his thoughts drift and invariably, they went to Vincent. The man in the picture looked good and Neal had to wonder just how the photographer got that shot. He snagged the folder back from Peter and looked at the picture again.
Neal blocked out Adler’s face, going so far as to put his thumb over it, and concentrated on the details around the man. The picture was taken from a distance, probably with a high-powered telephoto lens. There was a little distortion at the edges – the shot was through a glass window – but Adler was in perfect focus. So were his immediate surroundings, a restaurant. Neal focused on the place settings, the glassware, the décor. It was very high class and startlingly familiar. He’d even dined there a few times, with the very man in the photograph.
“Paris, he’s in Paris.”
That shut both men up. Peter asked, “How did you figure that out?”
“I recognized the restaurant. It’s La Tour d’Argent, and I’ll bet money I don’t have that this picture was taken from the south tower of Notre Dame. Alder’s living in Paris? He’s been there all this time?”
Peter nodded, looking impressed, but Moz wasn’t. He folded his arms across his chest, still unhappy with Neal’s cooperation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Moz, you heard what happened to my apartment building. Do you think that was an accident? Everyone else is dead – Wylie, Bhara, Caldwell, even Kate – you told me that.”
“And last week, you were absolutely certain that Adler had nothing to do those deaths.”
He knew that Moz was playing devil’s advocate for a reason, but he didn’t have the patience for it right now. They’d gone over and over these same points during the interview this morning. Moz had gotten so argumentative that Peter had actually asked why he was treating Neal like a hostile witness. “Look, I changed my mind, let’s leave it at that. I’m cooperating with Peter, okay?”
As those last words were spoken, Neal wanted to take them back. “With the F.B.I. Helping…” He felt like he was flailing in too-deep waters and shut his mouth.
At least that silenced Mozzie. His lawyer grabbed the glass in front of him and polished off the rest of the wine. If there was one thing he knew about Moz, it was that he never got drunk. Or maybe he was never sober. Neal had yet to figure that out.
Neal turned back to Peter, “What happens now?”
“You stay here.” Peter turned to Mozzie. “You, you can go home, or back to your office, or wherever you need to be that’s not here.” Peter opened the door and made a grand, sweeping gesture.
Mozzie griped and grumbled but headed for the bank of elevators. Peter tugged at his arm, steering him towards the offices. Neal pulled free. “Give me a second, okay?”
Peter nodded, clearly unhappy, but he let him go.
Neal went over to Moz, who was waiting for the elevator to arrive and doing his best to stay out of the camera’s lens. “Look, it’s going to be fine.”
“Probably, but getting back into Adler’s orbit is going to be inevitable. When they bring him back, you’re going to have to testify, you know that. You’re going to be tied up with the Suits for a good long time.”
Neal stuck his hands in his pockets. “It can’t be helped.” He didn’t want to tell Moz that he sort of didn’t mind. Spending time here, watching FBI agents go about their business, reminded him of everything he once wanted for himself.
Moz just stared up at the floor indicator.
No, he wasn’t going to tell Moz that. “I’m going to need your help.”
Moz sighed and turned to him. “I’m here for you, mon frère, but I hate to say it, you’d do better to rely on The Suit. He’s a little more … equipped … to watch out for you.”
Neal wasn’t sure if Moz meant that to sound quite as much like a double entendre as it did.
The elevator chimed and the car door opened, disgorging a few agents. Moz got in and gave him a shallow bow as the doors closed.
Neal returned to the FBI office, Peter was waiting for him on the balcony, like a statue dedicated to Truth, Justice and the American Way.
Moz was right; Peter was probably better equipped to take care of him.
END PART ONE - GO TO PART TWO
Artist: Nioell
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Lauren Cruz, Kyle Bancroft, Original Characters; Peter/Neal, past Neal/Adler, past Peter/Elizabeth (marriage of convenience), Peter-Elizabeth friendship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~41,000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, theatregirl7299 Summary: Neal, a former employee of Vincent Adler – and the only person from Adler’s organization to serve jail time – has agreed to help the FBI find Adler, who disappeared over half a decade ago. Peter Burke, the case agent assigned to the Adler case, is worried about Neal’s safety and doesn’t trust the Marshals, so he’s keeping him close at hand. The attraction between the two men grows as they learn about each other and everything comes to a head when Neal finally shares a devastating secret.
A/N: Continues the story that began in Nothing Will Remain, the near-canon A/U, where Peter is an FBI agent assigned to locate Vincent Adler. He had discovered that a former employee of Adler’s, Neal Caffrey, is his ex-wife’s book keeper. Neal had been reluctant to assist the FBI, but eventually agrees to help them. This story picks up immediately after the prior story ends, but you don’t have to read that story to understand what’s going on here.
Title from the Oysterband song, “Rise Above”.
Written for Round One of the
wc_reverse_bb.“I’ll help you.” Neal said the words – he hadn’t thought about them before speaking, but now that he’d spoken, it felt right. Like the first right thing he’d done in a very long time.
He glanced over at Peter, who seemed surprised at his declaration. Mingled with the surprise was compassion and understanding, nothing he’d never expected from an FBI agent, but perfectly in keeping with all that he’d learned about Peter Burke in the last few hours.
He told Peter why he’d changed his mind. The reasons were truths, but they were also excuses. Yes, he wanted to prove that he wasn’t his father’s son, but that was less important than proving to Peter Burke that he deserved the faith that he seemed to have in him. Neal couldn’t say at what point that became of paramount importance. He’d met the man only a week ago, spent a total of two or three hours in his company, and yet he went from seeing him as little more than a gold shield intent on making his life a misery to someone he needed to have in his life.
El would smile and say ‘I told you so,’ and that was all right. Family was entitled to take liberties like that. Moz might think he was crazy, or on the other hand, find his change of heart a very savvy move. Who better to provide protection than a Suit, especially one who seemed to be a cut more intelligent than the rest? His lawyer was nothing if not practical.
“So, where do we go from here?” He wondered what would happen next; would Peter rush him down to the FBI offices to make an official statement?
“Like I already told you, you’re staying with me.”
“I mean, after I give my statement. You don’t need to twist my arm anymore. I’ll help you as much as I can.”
“Thank you – but I’m keeping you with me because I’m worried about you. Adler has a long reach. Until he’s under lock and key and we’re sure that he hasn’t put out a hit on you, you’re with me.”
That didn’t bother him – not in the least – but he had to make some effort. “I know you said you don’t trust the Marshals, that you had some run-in with them, but I’ve heard that they’ve never lost a witness under their protection.” Neal was all too familiar with the Marshals’ Service
“That’s true. While they’ve never lost a witness, I’d rather not take the chance. There’s a first time for everything.”
Neal tried not to feel too relieved. “What about during the day? I know you said I can’t go to work and the last thing I’d want to do is put Elizabeth in jeopardy. Will I stay here, in your apartment?”
Peter smiled, but it was more like a smirk and Neal didn’t quite understand why his stomach filled with butterflies. “When I said I’m not letting you out of my sight, I meant just that. You’ll come to the office with me. I’ll find a desk for you and you’ll keep yourself busy during the day.”
He had a very incongruous thought, that Peter was treating him like a kid unexpectedly off from school and couldn’t be left home alone. He hoped Peter wasn’t sharing that same thought.
“Once we get the all-clear from the Fire Department, I’ll send someone to your place and get your stuff. Is there anything you want, other than your clothes?”
“Yeah. Would it be possible to get my sketchpad and pencils?” They weren’t particularly good quality and if he was a different sort of person, he probably could get the FBI to buy him the kind he longed for.
Peter nodded. “Anything else? Laptop? Tablet?”
Neal shook his head. “Nope, don’t have either, no need.” That wasn’t precisely true, but he didn’t want to tell Peter he couldn’t afford them. “My cell phone charger would be useful. It’s on my night table.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you make a list and I’ll give it to my agents tomorrow. This way, we won’t have to go back.”
“Won’t your people be annoyed? Having to fetch and carry an ex-con’s personal belongings?”
Peter gave him an odd look. “No, you’re a material witness in an on-going investigation; no one’s going to complain. Besides, they do what I tell them to do. It’s their job.”
Neal wasn’t so sure that no one would grumble, but if Peter was the boss, he didn’t doubt that he had the complete loyalty of his team. And that made him think about Vincent, how he’d once thought the same thing about him. Neal hoped that his perceptions about people weren’t still screwed up and twisted, that he wasn’t as wrong about Peter as he had been about his former boss.
“What’s the matter?”
Neal wondered if his thoughts were on full display. Vincent often liked to tell him that he had a terrible poker face and that he was as easy to read as a headline on the New York Post’s front page. “Nothing, just thinking. This is – well – a lot to take in.”
Peter nodded. “I bet it is.” He huffed a sigh. “It’s not that late. Do you want to watch some television or something?”
Neal shrugged. “Truthfully, I’m kind of tired. It been a long day and maybe I should just go to bed. I have a feeling that tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier.”
“I understand. I’ll get you something to wear – will sweatpants be okay?”
“Yeah – sure. Would you mind if I showered first? I feel a little ripe.”
Peter retrieved the promised sweatpants, showed him the bathroom and pulled out a few towels from the linen closet. “I’m going to watch the game, take care of some paperwork. If you change your mind, you’re welcome to join me.”
“Thanks.” He gave Peter a grateful smile and went into the bathroom, carefully shutting the door behind him. Even if he stared at the ceiling until dawn, there was no way – in his current frame of mind – that he could share a companionable evening with Peter Burke.
He hadn’t felt this vulnerable since his first night in prison.
Peter had no intention of asking Neal to spend the rest of the evening with him, but he spoke without making any conscious decision about it. It felt too much like the end of an ordinary day with someone he shared his life with. He tried to tell himself he was just being polite. After all, Neal was an unwilling houseguest. But he knew that was utter bullshit. He wanted Neal’s company; he wanted to spend time with him.
And he could hear El’s delighted laughter in the back of his mind. He didn’t doubt that his ex was trying to fix him up with Neal – or more precisely – that she was trying to fix Neal up with him. She knew his type all too well, they’d been friends for the better part of a decade and a half, had been married for a solid eight years, and she’d watched men come in and out of his life.
Physically, yeah – Neal Caffrey pushed a lot of buttons. He liked men, not boys, and Neal was certainly not a boy – despite the aura of vulnerability he cast. And okay, Peter had to admit to preferring blue-eyed brunets.
But it was more than Neal being a ‘type’. Peter could go into any bar in Chelsea and find a well-built blue-eyed brunet with a five o’clock shadow willing to go home with him and get soundly fucked. Hell, he’d certainly done that plenty of times over the years. Hook ups like that left him cold, even as they fulfilled his carnal needs.
What Caffrey was – beyond being a material witness in an on-going investigation – was smart. He was loyal.
Peter went into the kitchen and took a fresh bottle of beer from the fridge. Smart and loyal. Hell, those qualities could just as easily describe the Labrador retriever he had a kid. No, Neal Caffrey was a lot more than that.
From the other side of the apartment, he heard the shower turn off. It wasn’t hard to imagine Neal naked and wet, drying himself off, putting on his sweatpants. When he’d made the offer, Peter hadn’t realized just how intimate it would feel, to know that another man was wearing his clothes. He didn’t even want to think about tomorrow morning. Was it too much to hope that he had an unopened package of plain white briefs just lying around?
He swallowed and tried to banish the image of the man, but it was impossible. He wondered if Neal was smooth or hairy or something in-between. Of course, his thoughts immediately went to other body parts. Was Neal cut? Probably, given his age – but he let the mental picture build of the man as he’d prefer him to be. Smooth, but with the finest treasure trail leading to an uncut dick.
Peter took a sip of beer and tried to change the direction of his thoughts, reminding himself again that Neal Caffrey was a witness, not potential dating material. As long as he was under his protection – No, wait, under the protection of the FBI, he had no right to think of him in any other way.
Talk about screwing up his career and blowing the case clean out of the water. Sleeping with Neal Caffrey would be the worst mistake of his life.
And yet the devil that seemed to take up residence on his shoulder kept whispering, “But what a mistake to make, what a way to go.”
Friday morning, ten o’clock, Neal was late and Elizabeth was worried. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d been late to work. Actually, make that the closed fist of one hand.
Neal was never late.
Worse, he wasn’t answering his cell phone or responding to any of the text messages she’d left.
Last night, before they’d locked up, she took a good, hard look at him and thought that he looked like hell. Worse, actually, than the night he had first shown up at her door, fresh out of prison.
She asked if he was feeling all right and he fobbed her off with an excuse about a bad headache and too much wine the night before. Apparently Mozzie had visited and Neal thought he needed to match the man glass for glass.
El didn’t think Neal was lying – either about the headache or about Mozzie – but he wasn’t telling her the whole story, either. If she hadn’t had a meeting with a potential client, she would have gone over to his apartment and fussed over him. Over the past sixteen months, she’d learned that Neal had a terrible habit of not taking care of himself. He’d go home and sit at his easel for hours, forgetting to eat, sleeping only when his body demanded it.
And she wondered if there was more to his worn-down state than poor living habits. Since Peter had shown up at the office last week, demanding to talk to Neal about some case, Neal had become distant again. He wasn’t so much pushing her away as putting back up the emotional walls he’d built during his years in prison. Walls that she’d spent a lot of effort dismantling.
She wondered, and not for the first time, if he was depressed. It was hard to imagine the bright, happy boy she had grown up with having those problems, but life had kicked Neal in the teeth hard and her ex-husband’s pugnacious behavior might be threatening to tear down all that Neal had worked so hard to rebuild.
She loved Peter. She adored him. He was her best friend. But she wasn’t blind to his faults. He could be pig-headed and stubborn, a professional paranoid who tended to steamroll over people to see that justice was served.
Well, steamroll might be a little harsh, but he often had a way of looking at the world that was very black and white. And that wasn’t the best approach to dealing with Neal. She couldn’t help but wish that they’d met under different circumstances – like a lovely dinner that she’d arranged. Despite Neal’s time in prison and her husband’s career in law enforcement, she still thought that they’d be good for each other.
El stopped building castles in the air between her ex-husband and her cousin and tried calling Neal for the fifth time. The call went right to voice mail. She sighed and thought about calling Mozzie. But that was often a crap-shoot. Moz had at least a dozen different cell phone numbers, and night owl that he was, there was no guarantee that he would answer any of them this time of day.
She didn’t call Peter, though. He owed her for the way he’d tried to bully her, but it wasn’t like he was a cop or could send a squad car over to check on Neal.
She dithered and worried and paced the small office and finally broke down and called Moz. She was in luck.
Moz answered on the first ring and cut to the heart of the matter, “Before you ask, I’ve heard from Neal.”
The relief was tempered with annoyance and a bit of hurt. “He called you, but not me?”
“Don’t get your panties in a knot. He had some problems last night, but your noble and heroic ex-husband was there to save him.”
Huh? “Peter? What has Peter got to do with Neal not calling me?”
“I don’t have all of the details about last night, but apparently Neal’s agreed to cooperate with the Suits. I’m on my way over to the FBI offices right now. At this ungodly hour. Will fill you in later.” Moz, being Moz, disconnected without giving her a chance to ask a single question.
El stared at the phone as if it had the answers.
“Elizabeth, is everything all right?” She was so lost in thought that when Yvonne snuck up behind her, she shrieked.
“Sorry – sorry.”
“What’s the matter? And where’s Neal? He’s never late.” Her assistant had taken a motherly shine to Neal.
“Neal’s – he’s apparently at the FBI offices.” El didn’t bother to hide the worry.
Yvonne had been a silent witness to last week’s debacle and knew that Peter needed something from her bookkeeper. “You don’t have anything on the books until the Corelli party tonight at Top of the Rock. Do you want to go down and give everyone hell?”
She didn’t have to think twice. “Yeah, I think I’d like to do just that.”
“I’ll hold the fort until you get back.” Yvonne offered her a familiar green and white paper cup. “Take this, you look like you need it more than I do.”
That short cup probably contained a triple shot of espresso. “No – I’m okay. I think I’m wired enough. If I drink that, I might end up randomly assaulting people.”
Yvonne chuckled. “Go! And take no prisoners.”
“I don’t plan to.” She grabbed her bag and coat and headed over to the FBI offices, intent on retrieving Neal. If she had to leave bodies in her wake, so be it.
The smart thing to do would be to call Peter and give him a piece of her mind, but as she walked, she remembered what Mozzie had told her – that Neal had some problems last night and Peter saved him. She’d been too focused on Neal’s decision to cooperate with the FBI to pay much attention to that. All the worry that consumed her this morning flooded back, with interest.
What the hell could have happened to Neal that he needed to be rescued by her ex?
And despite her worry, Elizabeth had to laugh. Of all the people she knew, there was no one better at rescuing anybody than Peter Burke. He’d rescued her more times than she’d like to admit. By the time she arrived at the FBI offices and was waiting for the elevator up to the twenty-first floor, she’d just about convinced herself that events had arranged themselves perfectly, and her ex and her cousin were about to embark on a grand romance.
Since Peter’s return from his stint at headquarters in Washington, she’d only been at the White Collar offices a handful of times. The guard at the door didn’t recognize her and she couldn’t find a familiar face in the sea of agents manning the desks. The guard apologized to her, but he kept her waiting. Despite her impatience, El understood that this was more than mere protocol.
“Mrs. Burke! What brings you here?” Finally, someone she knew. Clinton Jones came over to greet her. The man – not so young anymore – had talked his way onto her husband’s team about nine years ago. At one time, she’d had hopes that Peter would fix his interest in that direction. When she’d tried to nudge him that way, Peter gave her the lecture to end all lectures and she never raised the subject of her husband dating any of his agents ever again.
“You have my bookkeeper.”
“Ah, right. Neal Caffrey.”
El wasn’t all that surprised that Clinton knew just who she was talking about. He was Peter’s right hand these days, and probably deeply involved in the investigation that had sent Peter storming down to her office last week. “Where is he?”
Clinton deftly maneuvered her over to his desk and offered her a seat. “He’s in an interview.”
El had to ask, just to make sure. “Not an interrogation?”
“No, he’s not being charged with anything.”
“With Peter?”
“And his lawyer.”
She laughed at the disgust in the agent’s tone. “Mozzie came in with guns blazing? Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“To say the least. Are you sure he’s actually a lawyer? He seems a little … odd for legal counsel.”
“Oh, he definitely is a lawyer.” When El first hired Moz, she had Peter do a thorough background check. It was one of the very few times she’d asked Peter for help like that. The report on Theodore Winters, a/k/a Dante Mozart Havisham, was fascinating. She’d never told the little guy that she’d looked into him. Some things weren’t worth the drama. “He’s a Harvard Law grad, class of ’89.”
Jones shook his head and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding, but nothing surprises me days.”
El then remembered that Clinton was a Harvard Law grad himself. “How long do you think they’ll be?”
“A while. The little guy has a way of slowing down things.”
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” She knew that was a long shot.
“No, afraid I can’t.” He gave her an arch look. “But I suspect you’ll get it out of Neal later.”
“Maybe.” She wasn’t so certain. Neal kept secrets like a vault and she’d leaned not to pry. El crossed her legs and leaned back in the very uncomfortable chair. She settled in for a long wait, dropped her bag on the desk and pulled out her phone. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No – go right ahead.” Clinton tried to tilt his monitor away from her line of sight and of fussed awkwardly at the papers and files displaced by her oversized handbag. “Um, how about if I take you to the conference room? You’d probably be more comfortable there. And I can let Peter know you’re here, too.”
She agreed. Clinton brought her upstairs and asked her if she’d like a cup of coffee. Knowing all too well how bad the coffee was, she asked for tea, instead. El settled into one of the chairs and had the strongest feeling of déjà vu. It seemed like the best part of her life started in this very conference room. She thought back to that moment and it was kind of shocking to realize just how long ago that was. Fifteen years, give or take a few months.
The room hadn’t changed all that much. There was new carpeting, new technology, new chairs. She’d changed, though. Older, of course. Smarter, definitely. As for wiser, the jury was still out on that.
A young agent – probably a probie – knocked on the door before coming in with a cup of tea. “Agent Jones had to go do something and he asked me to bring you this. I hope it’s all right.”
El reassured the nervous young woman that it was. It was hard to imagine being quite so young, so raw and uncertain. But back then, she had been. She shivered, realizing that had she not screwed up the courage to report the fraud she thought she’d uncovered at the Diarmitt, she might very well be dead. She never would have met Peter, they never would have become friends, he never would have married her just so she could have health insurance.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, but the physical warmth did nothing to ease the chill in her soul. She could have died and never had the chance to reunite with Neal. Neal might have fallen into the cracks and crevices that flanked an ex-con’s life. And Peter, would he have become the man he was now without their own connection?
“El?”
She looked up, and there he was. He might have been her ex-husband, but he’d always be her best friend. “Hey, hon.”
He came over to her and kissed her cheek. “I own you an apology.”
“Yes, you do.” At first, she thought he was talking about his impression of a bull in a china shop in her office last week, but then on second thought, that didn’t seem likely. “You do?”
“Yeah – I meant to call you this morning, to let you know what was going on, but things started snowballing and I lost all track of time.”
Neal. She metaphorically slapped her forehead. “I was very worried when Neal didn’t show up at work this morning and when he didn’t answer his phone or any of my texts. Mozzie said you rescued him?”
Peter nodded.
El had to laugh. “I can’t help but think that you’ve become a proverbial St. Bernard. All you need is a little barrel of brandy around your neck.”
The both chuckled at the image.
“So, what happened?”
Peter sighed. “I went to talk to Neal last night, over at his place in Queens. ”
“Why?” El figured it was for the same reasons that brought him down to her office last week, but she couldn’t help but hope that maybe Peter just wanted to take Neal out for a bite to eat and get to know him better.
Apparently not. He frowned and said, “Sorry, I still can’t tell you that. It’s an active case.”
She nodded. Now that they weren’t married, Peter couldn’t talk to her about his work. “Right – but you can tell me what happened.”
“We went up to his apartment and I smelled gas. Got everyone out of the building and called 911. Turns out there was a major leak. The place might have blown up.”
She couldn’t help but remember what happened in Harlem just a few months ago. “Thank god you’re all right. Is Neal okay?”
“Yeah – he had a bad headache. Probably from breathing the gas over the past few days.”
“I’ve been worried about him. Since you paid that visit last week, he hadn’t been looking too good. He was worn out and tired all the time.”
“I had him checked out by the EMTs, and they said he’ll be fine.”
“And what happened afterwards?”
It was strange how Peter wasn’t quite meeting her eye. “I took him back to Riverside with me. I didn’t give him a chance to call you, I didn’t want you to worry.”
El wanted to clap her hands and dance around the room in triumph. While Peter might need something from Neal for his investigation, he could just as easily set him up in a safe house. And even if he thought that taking Neal home with him was the safest option, that didn’t explain the slight flush along his cheekbones. “So, is everything … okay?” She still didn’t understand why Neal didn’t call her.
Peter gave her a sharp look; he clearly knew the direction her thoughts were going. “Everything’s just fine. But Neal’s going to have to stay under guard for a few days.”
“Wait – if everything’s ‘just fine’ – why would he need to stay under guard?”
“El, I can’t really tell you that.”
She huffed in annoyance. “Seriously, Peter – you are keeping my bookkeeper under lock and key and you won’t tell me why?”
“All I can tell you what I’ve already told you – Neal’s a material witness in a case. That’s it, El. For your own protection, you’re better off not knowing anything else.”
“Okay, okay. I don’t like this, though. I don’t like the idea of Neal being in danger.” And for form’s sake, El added, “And I don’t like the idea of you using him.”
Peter gave her a funny look.
“What?”
“What is Neal to you?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice.
“He didn’t tell you?” Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
“No, I asked and all he did was deflect and change the subject. What’s the big secret?” Peter looked at her again, but this time it was the sharp gaze of the veteran FBI agent, the man who loved to solve puzzles. “Is he your secret half-brother?”
She had to laugh. “Close. He’s my cousin. We kind of grew up together, and were best friends. At least until I was twelve.”
“What happened when you were twelve?”
“He and his mother just disappeared. I never heard from him again. Until he turned up at the house, just out of the blue, about sixteen months ago.” She had to wonder how much Neal had told Peter about his past. Maybe a lot, because he nodded like that meant something. “He looked for me after he got out of prison.”
“And you gave him a job.”
Peter made it seem wrong, like she was a soft touch and Neal had taken advantage of her. “Neal’s my family and he needed me. He had no one, nothing more than the clothes on his back. He looked like he’d been through hell and wasn’t sure he wanted to survive the trip back. Can you understand what that’s like?” She wanted to point out to Peter that when she needed him, he was there for her, without question. It wasn’t any different between her and Neal.
Peter just pursed his lips, like he wanted to argue with her, but knew better.
“Can I see him?”
“Yeah – we’ve taken a break. Moz insisted.” Peter stood up and motioned for her to join him. “I’ll take you to him – he’ll be happy to see you.”
He led her back through the office to a small, secured area and used his badge to disengage the door lock. She was about to make a comment about why Neal was being treated like a dangerous felon when Peter commented, “It’s procedure, and for his own safety.”
Neal was alone in the room and he looked, if not worse for wear, then simply tired. But his whole face lit up when he saw her. She held out her arms and he got up, letting her hug him tightly. “You okay?” She cupped his cheek and threaded her fingers through his curls.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She let go and peered into his face. Yes, he actually did look better than he had. The lines of strain around his mouth had smoothed out; the pinched look around his eyes was gone. “Sweetie.”
Neal looked over her shoulder, at Peter. “Can we have a few?”
Peter nodded and left them in privacy.
El had to note with a smile, “He’s probably listening, you know.”
Neal shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Peter wouldn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“You’re better off not knowing.”
“He said that you spent the night at his place.”
That got a reaction. A very interesting one – similar to the flush that appeared across Peter’s cheeks when they talked about the exact same thing. “El – it’s not what you think.”
“I know that – but still…” She almost hoped that Peter was listening.
Neal seemed uncomfortable, though, and she took pity and changed the subject. “I told him you’re my cousin.”
“How did he take knowing he’d once been married to a woman who’s related to a felon?”
She gave Neal a little shove. “You know, your whole ‘I’m a former criminal’ act is getting kind of old, so drop it.”
“Okay, sorry.” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, what was his reaction?”
“Actually, he'd almost figured it out. He thought you might have been my brother. And no, it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.”
Neal didn’t say anything and the conversation fell into an awkward silence. Elizabeth finally asked, “Did he tell you how long you’re going to have to stay here? Or are you going to a safe house or something?”
“No safe house. I get to hang out with the boys and girls with badges for the next couple of days. Peter wants to keep an eye on me. He doesn’t seem to trust the Marshals.”
Before she could comment about Peter keeping him on a short leash, Neal continued, “Which reminds me – you are NOT to touch the accounting programs. It took me six months to get your books straightened out and under no circumstances are you to even think of messing with them.”
“Okay, okay.” She knew better than to mess with the books. “But how am I going to run my business if you’re locked up?” She couldn’t help but tease him.
Neal turned pale at those last words.
El cursed her runaway mouth. “Sorry – I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Neal shoved his hands in his pockets. “You trust Yvonne, right?”
“Absolutely.” She knew Yvonne from her days at the gallery, where she’d been Sebastian Diarmitt’s personal assistant. El snapped her up the moment Sebastian finally decided to retire and close the doors. Yvonne took care of all the everyday details
“Then I’ll work with her – on the phone, okay? I’ll have to give her passwords and she’ll see banking details for the business accounts. Will that be all right?”
“It’ll have to be. Bills need to get paid. I don’t have a choice.”
“Well, you do – I can work with you instead of Yvonne. But it’s going to be tedious. And last time you tried to use QuickBooks, I had to stop you from taking an axe to the monitor.”
She didn’t laugh because it really wasn’t funny. Back when she first started out, Peter had patiently showed her everything she needed to do to keep her business going. She did fine with it for the first few months, but then she got sick. Peter stepped in and kept things going financially until she’d recovered. She’d been so lucky – she survived a major brain tumor with little long-term side effects. Until she looked at numbers. It wasn’t that they didn’t make sense, or she couldn’t do basic arithmetic. But columns of numbers and data entry made her more than a little nuts. Nothing made sense and her normally even-tempered personality disappeared – it was like she became the Incredible She-Hulk.
“El?”
“No – you and Yvonne will do fine. She did most of the bookkeeping before you came, she’ll know what you’re talking about. I’ll only mess things up.”
This time, Neal was the one to hug her. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He kissed her forehead, a rare show of affection. “A week, at most, and everything will be back to normal.”
She sighed and leaned into Neal, hoping that was true.
Peter was not on the other side of the two-way glass, watching and listening in on the conversation between Neal and Elizabeth. He decided that his time was better spent following up with the New York City Fire Department than snooping on the pair.
After hearing what the NYFD had to say, he was glad he did. He went back to the interrogation room, only to find that the little guy was back.
Mozzie had brought an array of sandwiches, and despite the news he had to share, Peter smiled at the sight of the three of them dining in his interrogation room like it was The Four Seasons. If he wasn’t mistaken, the bottle of wine the little guy brought was a pricey Barbaresco. Only Moz would bring a ninety-five dollar bottle of wine to lunch in the FBI interrogation room. He idly wondered about what was in the sandwiches. Probably something fancy like brie or smoked salmon or prosciutto. Or foie gras. Peter shuddered. He hated foie gras.
Peter watched the three of them and was tempted as hell to turn on the speaker and listen in. Neal wasn’t a suspect, but a cooperating witness, and it wasn’t as if he expected to hear anything of a self-incriminating nature. The whole scenario was a legal gray area – they were, after all, in an FBI interrogation room, one they had to know would be equipped with all sorts of covert observation equipment. And Elizabeth’s presence might very well cancel out the attorney-client privilege.
Peter wasn’t willing to risk it. Besides, the three of them seemed very happy. Neal was smiling and looked about a decade younger than he had the night before. Let them enjoy the moment. With the news he had, it wasn’t going to last. The outer door opened and Jones entered. They stood side-by-side for a few minutes.
Jones finally spoke. “You’re not joining them?”
Peter shrugged. “Nah, not hungry.”
The other agent gave him a sharp look, but Peter didn’t respond. “What’s your take on Caffrey? He seems awfully close with your ex. A little more than employer-employee, to be honest.”
If that comment had been made by anyone else, Peter might have flayed the speaker alive. But Jones had been his right hand for a long time, and he knew more about the relationship between him and Elizabeth than anyone at the office. “I’ve got no issues with Caffrey, and my take on is what you see is what you get. He’s had a rough time, but he’s not a player. And as for him and Elizabeth, they’re cousins, apparently. El told me they grew up together and Neal looked for her after he got out of prison.”
“Ah. You know, I can see a definite resemblance.”
Peter watched them. Yes, even if you ignored the similarities in their coloring, there was something of a family resemblance. Oh, El’s eyes were bluer, her cheeks rounder, but it was there – the tilt of the head, their mannerisms.
“You have anything for me?” Peter had asked Clinton to discretely get information about James Caffrey, Neal’s father.
“Not yet. He’s not listed in ViCAP, which doesn’t go that far back for dead criminals. And from what you told me, if I go through official Bureau channels, I’m going to get us a lot of unwanted attention. Wonder if any of the man’s old colleagues would be willing to talk about him. Caffrey was a D.C. cop, right?”
“Yeah. He was in the Metro D.C. force, lived in suburban Maryland.”
Jones rocked back and forth, hands in his pockets. “I’ve got some Navy buddies in D.C. who I haven’t seen in a while. Wouldn’t mind taking a few days off to go see them.”
Peter let a small smile curve his lips. “Maybe you could finally do your firearms recertification while you’re down there. Head out to Quantico. You really shouldn’t let things go this long.”
The other agent just nodded. “Yeah, I know. Quarterly re-certs are a pain, but might as well take care of it when I’m in the area. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop by the admissions office, see if I could get a peek at Caffrey’s application. He’s a material witness in a major investigation, need to make sure that his testimony will be unimpeachable. Can’t have anything come up and bite the government’s case in the ass.”
“Good thinking.”
Ever the naval officer, Jones gave him a two-fingered salute and Peter nodded his dismissal. In the interrogation room, Mozzie was shoving the cork back into the bottle and El and Neal were wrapping up the remainder of their lunch. It was time to deliver the bad news.
Peter unlocked the door and entered, doing his best not to laugh at the almost guilty looks on everyone’s faces. He was tempted to take the wineglass out of Mozzie’s hand and drain it, if just to join in the fun.
Oddly enough, it was Neal, not Elizabeth, who picked up his mood. “What’s the matter?”
He let out a gusty sigh. “Not good news. I just got off the phone with the Fire Department.”
“I can’t get back into my apartment?”
“I wish that was the case.” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. “Your apartment building sort of blew up this morning. The leak wasn’t just in the apartment. It seems that there was gas leaking from the mains where they came into the basement. Everything’s gone. I’m sorry.”
El hugged Neal, murmuring words of consolation. “You can stay with me, sweetie, don’t worry about it.”
“Actually, El, he can’t. At least not yet.”
She grimaced and let go of her cousin. “Right, yeah. I forgot, he’s a material witness.” Then she blinked, finally realizing that one thing had nothing to do with the other. “Wait, Neal’s in danger?”
Peter nodded, relieved that she finally caught on. “Yes, it’s possible that the leak wasn’t an accident.” He held up a hand. “And that’s all I can tell you. Neal needs around-the-clock protection and if he stays with you, you’re at risk, too.”
Neal just sat there, white as a sheet. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, thank god. Even though the building was a stand-alone and didn’t share any walls with your neighbors, the block had been evacuated.” Peter didn’t see the need, at least right now, to tell them that the Fire Department was sending in the arson squad to investigate. The gas mains in that neighborhood had been upgraded within the last five years and once they’d been shut off and the building ventilated, there should have been no risk of explosion. “I’m sorry, but everything’s gone.”
Neal shrugged, still looking numb. “Didn’t have all that much. Not a lot of clothes, my sketchbook and art supplies, a couple of extremely uninspired reproductions. The place came furnished. The rest came was from the local thrift stores.”
A thought occurred to Peter. “Did you have any papers there?”
“Papers?”
“Files, anything from before – you know – prison?”
Neal shook his head slowly. “No, I kept nothing important there.”
Peter thought that wording was interesting, but with El still in the room, it wasn’t something he wanted to explore. Moz, though, had picked up on it and was staring at Neal.
“Hon?” He turned to Elizabeth. “Neal and I need to pick up where we left off.”
“And you need me to leave?”
“Yeah, sorry. But you can’t be here.”
She sighed. “I do understand. Really, I’m not that clueless.” She gave Neal a kiss and whispered something in his ear. Neal nodded and in a quick movement, wrapped his arms around her.
Peter felt strangely emotional watching the two of them cling to each other – emotional and a little bereft. He’d been long accustomed to El relying on him. It was more than disconcerting seeing her as the strong one.
She gave Moz a hard glare, which Moz returned with interest.
As she headed for the door, Elizabeth rested a hand on his arm. “Take it easy on him. Neal’s not as strong as he wants you to think.”
Peter wanted to tell her he wasn’t about to bring out the rubber hoses, but thought better of it. It wasn’t worth joking about – he knew just how fragile Neal’s world was. He kissed her cheek instead. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
She kissed him back. “Thanks.”
The door shut behind her with a decisive click. Peter gave a longing look at the half-full wine glass still on the table, and then firmly put it out of his mind. He dropped a folder on the table and opened it. “Now we can get to the heart of the matter. Is this Vincent Adler?”
Peter slid the folder across the table. Neal was shocked at how nervous he was. His hands were shaking and sweat pooled at the base of his spine as he picked up the file.
He hadn’t laid eyes on Vincent in over five years, even in a photograph.
Neal took a deep breath and opened the folder. The face of the man in the photograph was a little older than the one in his memories, of course. Instead of a head of dark brown hair, expertly cut with a bit of an unruly wave to it, there were dramatic wings of white at the temples. But that was the only difference. The sharp, almost aristocratic planes of the cheekbones, the strong chin, the broad forehead – those were the same as on the man he had known and idolized.
Or he thought he’d known. The man who absconded with nine billion dollars of other people’s money, the man who let him plead guilty and rot in prison for almost half a decade was not a man worth idolizing.
“Yes, that’s Adler.” Neal closed the folder; he didn’t want to look at that picture for a moment longer than he had to. But he kept his hand over the file, unwilling to let it go.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Moz pried it away from him and looked at the picture. “That’s him? That’s the guy who –”
Peter grabbed the file from Moz. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I’m his attorney. I need to see what he sees.”
“You don’t have the necessary clearance.”
“Says who?”
“Says me – and believe me, I’ve checked.”
The two men started bickering about the legitimacy of government oversight and privacy. When Mozzie began ranting about FISA courts, secret societies, and the Star Chamber, Neal had enough. “Guys, guys – stop it, please. You’re giving me a headache.”
Peter and Moz looked at him, paused for just a second, then Moz started up again on the NSA’s spying on American citizens, Peter countered with the old something about ‘if you’ve done nothing wrong, what are you afraid of’ bit. It was like listening to five-year olds bicker about who was going to get the last cookie.
It all washed over him – not so much white noise – but like the sound of a train rushing past, loud and meaningless. He let his thoughts drift and invariably, they went to Vincent. The man in the picture looked good and Neal had to wonder just how the photographer got that shot. He snagged the folder back from Peter and looked at the picture again.
Neal blocked out Adler’s face, going so far as to put his thumb over it, and concentrated on the details around the man. The picture was taken from a distance, probably with a high-powered telephoto lens. There was a little distortion at the edges – the shot was through a glass window – but Adler was in perfect focus. So were his immediate surroundings, a restaurant. Neal focused on the place settings, the glassware, the décor. It was very high class and startlingly familiar. He’d even dined there a few times, with the very man in the photograph.
“Paris, he’s in Paris.”
That shut both men up. Peter asked, “How did you figure that out?”
“I recognized the restaurant. It’s La Tour d’Argent, and I’ll bet money I don’t have that this picture was taken from the south tower of Notre Dame. Alder’s living in Paris? He’s been there all this time?”
Peter nodded, looking impressed, but Moz wasn’t. He folded his arms across his chest, still unhappy with Neal’s cooperation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Moz, you heard what happened to my apartment building. Do you think that was an accident? Everyone else is dead – Wylie, Bhara, Caldwell, even Kate – you told me that.”
“And last week, you were absolutely certain that Adler had nothing to do those deaths.”
He knew that Moz was playing devil’s advocate for a reason, but he didn’t have the patience for it right now. They’d gone over and over these same points during the interview this morning. Moz had gotten so argumentative that Peter had actually asked why he was treating Neal like a hostile witness. “Look, I changed my mind, let’s leave it at that. I’m cooperating with Peter, okay?”
As those last words were spoken, Neal wanted to take them back. “With the F.B.I. Helping…” He felt like he was flailing in too-deep waters and shut his mouth.
At least that silenced Mozzie. His lawyer grabbed the glass in front of him and polished off the rest of the wine. If there was one thing he knew about Moz, it was that he never got drunk. Or maybe he was never sober. Neal had yet to figure that out.
Neal turned back to Peter, “What happens now?”
“You stay here.” Peter turned to Mozzie. “You, you can go home, or back to your office, or wherever you need to be that’s not here.” Peter opened the door and made a grand, sweeping gesture.
Mozzie griped and grumbled but headed for the bank of elevators. Peter tugged at his arm, steering him towards the offices. Neal pulled free. “Give me a second, okay?”
Peter nodded, clearly unhappy, but he let him go.
Neal went over to Moz, who was waiting for the elevator to arrive and doing his best to stay out of the camera’s lens. “Look, it’s going to be fine.”
“Probably, but getting back into Adler’s orbit is going to be inevitable. When they bring him back, you’re going to have to testify, you know that. You’re going to be tied up with the Suits for a good long time.”
Neal stuck his hands in his pockets. “It can’t be helped.” He didn’t want to tell Moz that he sort of didn’t mind. Spending time here, watching FBI agents go about their business, reminded him of everything he once wanted for himself.
Moz just stared up at the floor indicator.
No, he wasn’t going to tell Moz that. “I’m going to need your help.”
Moz sighed and turned to him. “I’m here for you, mon frère, but I hate to say it, you’d do better to rely on The Suit. He’s a little more … equipped … to watch out for you.”
Neal wasn’t sure if Moz meant that to sound quite as much like a double entendre as it did.
The elevator chimed and the car door opened, disgorging a few agents. Moz got in and gave him a shallow bow as the doors closed.
Neal returned to the FBI office, Peter was waiting for him on the balcony, like a statue dedicated to Truth, Justice and the American Way.
Moz was right; Peter was probably better equipped to take care of him.
Tags:
- character: bancroft,
- character: clinton jones,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: lauren cruz,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: vincent adler,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: coming out,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: neal as artist,
- genre: pre-slash,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- genre: ust,
- pairing: neal/adler,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: nothing will remain,
- white collar,
- written for: wcrbb,
- year: 2014
